


Love Is Like a Bottle of Gin

by agent_florida



Series: cadmiumahoy series [4]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-08
Updated: 2010-04-08
Packaged: 2017-11-23 17:09:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/624560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_florida/pseuds/agent_florida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trying to get NC to reveal her secrets is a little harder than York counted on. Wouldn’t it just be easier at this point to sleep with her instead?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Is Like a Bottle of Gin

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Evil Scheme, Take Two.](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/15304) by cadmiumahoy. 



Right when York had convinced himself that NC wasn’t home and that he was wasting his time in front of her door, she answered. She was rubbing the back of her head with a towel, her hair wet and smelling of tropical fruits, and she was already wearing pajamas. Her face went through about three expressions when she realized it was him – first a slight smile, then the wide eyes of shock, then a frown and furrowed brows. “God, what is it now?” she griped, continuing to towel off.  
  
He held up the two bottles of alcohol in his hand. “Wash kicked me out.” It was true, kind of, which meant it wasn’t as hard as lying to her. He was a terrible liar anyways, but she didn’t seem to be fazed by his charms, so with her it was useless.  
  
“Is that…” She reached out a hand for the Tanqueray bottle in his left hand, and her fingers brushed his for the briefest moment as she went to grab it from him. “Oh,  _excellent_ ,” she said, grinning widely in what York was learning was a sign that something was about to go Very Wrong. She swept away from the doorway, rushing to put the bottle down, and York let himself into her room before the door closed in his face.  
  
“So I take it that I’m welcome here?” he asked her. On top of having his ass kicked in by Wash, he didn’t want his nuts to be next if NC took a cheap shot.  
  
“You’re not,” she grumbled. She was on a chair, reaching for a high shelf, pushing the bottle of gin up to a place where she wouldn’t be able to reach it easily. But when she finally got it in place and hopped off the chair, she was still grinning. At least by now she didn’t look like she was going to eat him. “But your alcohol is.” This time, she reached down and took the bottle of vodka out of his hand, unscrewing the cap without even asking him first.  
  
“Uh, what are you…” That was supposed to be for  _him._  That was supposed to be the  _one good thing_  he was getting out of this mess. And the fact that she thought she could just take it out of his hands –  
  
“There are glasses in that drawer,” she dictated, pointing from the bed with her elbow as she continued to unscrew.  
  
Knowing to follow her orders, York opened it, and sure enough, there were two old-fashioned glasses in there. “Why aren’t you going for the gin?” he asked as he drew them out between the fingers of one hand.  
  
“Because Wash didn’t throw in the tonic.” She finally managed to screw off the cap, and she sniffed at the contents of the bottle before making a face. “What the hell is this shit?”  
  
“It’s vodka,” York explained, using his long-suffering voice on her.  
  
“It’s disgusting, is what it is.” He joined her in sitting on her bed, holding out the glasses to her.  
  
She measured out a small but even amount in both glasses, biting her lip as she concentrated. York took the opportunity to ask her a question; after all, if she had her hands full, it would be about twice as hard for her to beat him to next Tuesday. “Uh, NC? I thought you showered this morning.”  
  
She finished topping off the second glass and pounded the bottle onto her nightstand so hard that a few droplets of alcohol flew out of the neck. “I did. So?”  
  
“Well, you, uh… you just showered again, didn’t you?”  
  
She looked over at him and waggled her eyebrows slightly. “Wow. You really aren’t as dumb as you look sometimes. Yes, I showered again. Because no matter what I do, I still feel dirty, because  _I touched that goddamn dress._ ” She took one of the glasses out of York’s hands, put it to her lips, and tossed the vodka straight back. The brief swallowing movement in her throat made York gulp, too, except now he was frankly scared of her drinking ability: when she finished taking it down, she didn’t even wince.  
  
“Look, if it’s making you upset, I can just take it out of your hands…” But it wasn’t on the floor where she had tossed it last night. He looked frantically around the room for a few seconds, hoping to see some pink frills sticking out from behind a corner, but no such luck.  
  
“Nope. You can’t have it back. I need that for evidence once Wash fucks you and the game is up.”  
  
She started to fill her glass up again, and York raised his eyebrows. “Uh, NC?”  
  
“Yes?” she asked, a bite in her voice as the vodka splashed.  
  
“It’s seven o’clock at night.”  
  
“I realize this,” she deadpanned as she kept pouring the vodka. At this point, there was more than a single shot in her glass.  
  
“Don’t you think it’s a little early to be drinking this heavily?”  
  
She finally stopped pouring, slamming the bottle back onto the nightstand, and she glared at York over the rim of her glass. “I didn’t sleep last night,” she explained. “Whenever I closed my eyes, I just saw that dress in my mind. And once I did fall asleep, I had a dream that Wash was… wearing it…” She shuddered. “I need to sleep tonight, and I don’t need to dream, so God help me, I’m drinking until I black out.”  
  
She moved to put the glass to her mouth, but York covered it with his hand so that she couldn’t take a drink. “Stop.” The glass made it to her lips, though, and suddenly she was kissing one of his knuckles. “You… you don’t need to go quite so fast. I don’t want you to get alcohol poisoning or anything.”  
  
NC let York pull his hand back, then put her lips back on the rim of the glass. “Why do you care?” But she took a smaller sip anyhow, smirking a little as she swallowed. “For all I know, Wash sent you to finally get rid of me, once and for all.”  
  
York’s eyes widened. “Really, NC, why do you always assume the worst out of me?”  
  
“Because you are the worst?” A sudden smile brightened her face, though. “Besides, it’s not you I’m worried about. I don’t think you’ll hurt me. Wash, though… I assume he’s still pissed at you.”  
  
“He kicked me in the ass,” York complained.  
  
“Ah, so that’s why you looked like you had been fucked.” She took another long sip. “Maybe just fucked over.”  
  
“You got that one right.” And York took his first sip of vodka, surprised at how refreshing the alcohol felt. Maybe if he could just get drunk, he could forget everything that had happened, get a little serenity and clarity of mind before going back to Wash, and finally make everything better.  
  
An hour later, and York was finally finishing his first shot of vodka. In the meantime, NC had had her first shot, the next two she had poured into her tumbler, and was sipping at another. She had put on some music, and her smile was coming a little easier now. “Did I ever tell you what my sister said the first time she saw you?” she asked, her voice a little too loud.  
  
York raised his eyebrows. Was she that drunk already, that she would be telling him little secrets like this? Man, if it was going to be that easy, he should have done this ages ago. He hid his surprise by reaching for the bottle of vodka and splashing a little more into the bottom of his glass. “No, you didn’t, but now you have to. I simply must know,” he deadpanned.  
  
“She said…” NC burst into giggles. York hadn’t heard her laugh like that since the night they had hooked up. “And I’m quoting this now, so don’t get mad at me or her or anything. She said, ‘Damn, if all the Freelancers are as cute as he is, I’m sorry I got engaged to an ODST.’ No lie. I can’t make that up.”  
  
“Really,” he said into the bottom of his glass before taking another short sip.  
  
NC’s ‘sip’ was twice as long. “And I told her, I was like, ‘Honey, you made your choice. But the rest of us…’” And she waggled her eyebrows at York, a drunken smirk on her face.  
  
“The rest of us what?” She wouldn’t stop moving her eyebrows. “You know, if your eyebrows are twitching like that, it could be a sign of a rare but serious condition.”  
  
NC started laughing again. “You are funny, York, you know that? Like, really funny.” She let her head droop down onto his shoulder; her hair smelled so good right under his nose. Why did she have to be so tempting when he was already with someone else?  
  
As easy as that first little slip had been, though, it was another two hours of vodka, music, and rambling conversation later before York really got to some of the juicy bits. NC’s voice was slurred, her head resting in the crook between his neck and his shoulder, and somehow his arm had found its way around her back. Just to keep her on the bed so she doesn’t fall off and hurt herself, he rationalized. “So I asked Lando, I asked him, ‘what’s so bad about getting your arm blown off at the elbow? It’s not like you don’t have another one.’ And he just looks at me, this really sad puppy dog look on his face, and goes – I can’t forget this – ‘I was left-handed.’ And I got confused, because he’s always shot with his right hand, so I asked him, and he just looks at me, and I swear to God, I have never been so embarrassed in my life.” She turned her head; he looked down, and her surprisingly green eyes were staring right back up at him, looking more than a little unfocused. “What about you? Righty or lefty?”  
  
York was glad at this point that he had a little alcohol in him; otherwise, the conversation would have been much more awkward. “Ambi.” NC had a surprised look on her face. “I am a man of many talents,” he bragged.  
  
“That’s… kinda hot…” Her breath smelled like alcohol, but York couldn’t bring it upon himself to mind. He had half a brain to just lean down, kiss her, get her to fuck him, and be over with it, but just as he was steeling up his nerve, NC turned her face away from his and took another sip out of her glass. “Anyway, he was complaining, and I couldn’t just let it be, so I told him I would help out with the problem.”  
  
“Naw.” York’s voice was mock-shocked. “You didn’t.”  
  
“Well, actually, I didn’t touch him, nothing like that. It was hard to take those guys seriously. They were more like my brothers – really pervy brothers – I guess more like next door neighbors – but not the good kind…” She sighed. “You know what I mean. Anyway, I told him he would have to learn to be a righty, so I, ah, made him some materials…”  
  
Oh. York could feel a little buzz of excitement start at the base of his spine, and it wasn’t just from the alcohol. He might have just hit pay dirt. Play it cool, he reminded himself. Calm, cool, and collected. Espionage. You’re good at this. “Oh, you didn’t,” he teased her, grinning widely.  
  
She grinned back, her face flushed. “I did. Probably still have it, too, here in the bottom drawer of my nightstand… I think I brought it with me…” She disentangled herself from York’s arms and nearly fell off the bed as she reached down to rummage in the drawer. “Woo. That vodka’s a little strong,” she mumbled.  
  
She started tossing things out onto the floor as she was looking through the drawer, and suddenly York recognized the frills of the dress he had made the mistake of leaving in her room. Jackpot. He quickly kicked the dress under the bed as she continued to rummage in the drawer, but his shift on the bed almost made NC fall off. “Whoa,” both of them shouted, and York reached up to clumsily grab her around the waist and steady her a little bit. “You find what you were looking for?”  
  
“Yessir,” she affirmed, using York’s arms to pull herself back onto the bed. Yessir, he thought to himself, his imagination going awry. Just the word turned him on so much. Wash never respected him like that, and he deserved it, didn’t he? Maybe he could make her say that as he was plowing her…  
  
She cradled into him as she passed something into his free hand. “What is this?” he asked. A picture of NC in combat uniform was gracing the cover of something that was thin, but bound together.  
  
“I made the boys a calendar for Christmas one year.”  
  
Oh, God, it was perfect. “No way,” he joked with her.  
  
“Yeah. Just look at it. But, uh… Don’t tell anyone else about it. I’d die if anyone else found out.”  
  
He flipped the calendar open, going through each month’s header pictures one by one. In January, she was in her fatigues and a black wifebeater, cleaning a gun in a very unambiguous manner. The black-and-white photography was unusually soft-focused in areas, and it was very, very clear what this calendar was for. Flipping to February, she was now in a pair of long shorts and that same black wifebeater, her medic armband functioning as a headband, a syringe between her teeth. March’s picture had her in black panties and that wifebeater, sitting Indian-style, hugging a rocket launcher to herself, making herself look diminutive pressed up against that obviously phallic object, her wide green eyes the only part of the picture that was in color. In April, she had her back to the camera, leaning over the hood of a Warthog as she scrubbed it down, her wifebeater clinging to her frame, the pattern of a rooster and a set of dentures evident on her panties. May’s picture was even more racy, with her in what appeared to be a locker room, attempting to unclasp her bra, one foot on a bench, her back still to the camera.  
  
He couldn’t keep looking through the rest of the pictures because of the obvious hard-on he now had, but glancing over the rest, he confirmed his suspicions: she just got more and more naked, and more and more racy, in every picture. “Wow,” he exhaled. “This is…”  
  
“It’s awful, I know,” she mumbled, hiding her face in his shoulder.  
  
He tossed the calendar aside onto the floor so that he could grab her chin with his hand. “Hey,” he said, trying to make her show him her face. “It’s not that bad.”  
  
“Yes, it is,” she said, her eyes darting away to look at the other side of the room.  
  
“No, listen to me, Manda.” The use of her sister’s nickname for her caught her attention, and once again those bewitching green eyes had him under her spell. He let go of her face once he had her attention – didn’t want her getting the wrong idea, after all. “It’s really good. In fact, it’s really, really sexy. You know what I was thinking the entire time I was looking through that?” Might as well try for some honesty, make her really trust him.  
  
“What?” She was smiling up into his face.  
  
“I was thinking that you might be the pretty sister after all.”  
  
Her eyebrows suddenly furrowed, and he bit his lip. That hadn’t come out quite right – damn the alcohol and her stupid green eyes. “Eric!” she said, surprised. Then her expression softened. “Your mouth’s running. Your brain might want to see to that.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Or I could just shut you up.” And within the space of half a second, her hands had come up to grasp at his hair, and she was practically smashing her lips against his in a drunken kiss.  
  
It was a mixture of everything, York realized. It was her eyes, it was that disarming smile, it was her drunken slur, it was the buzz he was feeling, it was the way her hair smelled, but mostly it was those damn pictures and that drunken kiss that led to things getting way out of hand. Her tongue touched against his, and her slight weight on him was pushing him back towards her headboard. He let her fall on top of him, reaching his hands down to pull up the bottom of her shirt and smooth his fingertips along the hourglass shape of her waist, trail his hands up her ribcage, force her shirt over her head.  
  
Her curly hair was tumbling down around his face, and the scent was as intoxicating to him as the vodka as she continued to kiss him, her mouth drunkenly sloppy but still soft, with just the right amount of pressure to drive him wild. Her thumbs had found a gap between his pants and his hipbones, and they were pressing ever-so-slightly against the jutting lines. Mirroring her hands, he slipped first his thumbs, then the rest of his hands, into her sleep pants, letting them fall around the curves of her ass, cupping it so he could hold her body closer to him.  
  
NC broke off the kiss to trail more down his jaw and along his neck. “I don’t even like you,” she muttered to herself.  
  
“Then why are we doing this?” He reached down with his teeth to nip at her bra strap; it fell down her shoulder, and he kissed the imprint it had left behind.  
  
“I want you,” she admitted, rubbing her body against his in a way that left the statement completely unambiguous.  
  
“But you don’t even like me,” he reminded her, keeping his voice low and husky. The burn of the vodka still in his system helped with that. He smoothed his hands back up her body, admiring the smoothness of the skin on her stomach as he reached up to cup her breasts. God, they were perfect, just enough for a handful, and she made a little noise and moved against him again when he squeezed them softly.  
  
“I want you, I just – ah…” He reached up to kiss her neck, leaving one hand at her breast and letting the other sneak inside her pants to feel – damn, she was wearing lace again, the minx, why did she do this to him? “Don’t want your – mm…” He cupped her hand around her panties, feeling the warmth there, rubbing her just enough to get her to moan. “Reputation…” she finished.  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked innocently. He knew full well what she meant. Before Wash had put a claim out on him, he knew he had taken advantage of his charm and good looks to sleep with as many of the Freelancers as he could. He had almost gone 30 for 49 by the time Wash got to him, and not for lack of trying. He had even managed to piss NC off by flirting with her sister in the process.  
  
The only reason why he asked the question was to gauge how far she was gone to the pleasure she was giving him, and when all he got in response was a gasp, he knew he had been right to assume she was too far gone to answer. He slipped his hand back out of her pants only to replace it behind yet another layer of fabric, his fingers smoothing past little soft curls to reach her slit, and he pressed down gently to a spot he knew would drive her wild.  
  
She practically mewled like a kitten as she moved her hips against his one finger. Goddamn, but this was sexy, seeing how much she needed him, and when he made a little circle she actually cried out his name. He should have been surprised at how wet she was, but she had already proven herself to be a horny drunk – all he had to do was take advantage of that, and he would keep Wash’s secret safe and scot-free when NC finally gave in and slept with him.  
  
He was courteous, though, and he wanted her to have a good time, so he continued touching her, rubbing his finger first in one pattern, then another, enjoying the feel of her one hand clutching his hair, her other hand fisting in his shirt and resting on his abs. Her body sagged against his, and she was panting hard when he leaned over to kiss and nip at her neck.  
  
It didn’t take long at all before the tension inside her snapped. With just one twitch of her neck, he knew he had pushed her over the edge, and he pulled back to look at her, eyes wide, mouth open in a silent scream, her neck bending gracefully backwards, a flush spreading all the way down to her cleavage. This, this was the picture he would carry around with him, not those snapshots in the calendar. In color, in real life, she looked much more debauched, a sinner who knew she had fallen for the worst possible devil.  
  
Then her breathing calmed and her body relaxed against his, and he knew he had done all he could. “And now…” he said, looking down so he could know how to guide her pants down her hips, but when he looked back up into her face, he could see that her eyes were closed and her face was pale. “NC?” He shook her gently. “Manda?” No response. Damn it, she had passed out before he could seal the deal. Again. What a cockblock.  
  
He rolled her over onto her back, leaving her head on the pillow, and tugged at his pants as he sat up on the bed. Well, this was going to be hard to hide. He’d make do somehow. What was important right now were the two items he had kicked under the bed. He stood up, his knees a little more bendy than he would have liked, and swiped them quickly, afraid that at any moment NC might realize what he was doing and drunkenly attempt to assassinate him. But once the dress and calendar were in his hands, he breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn’t moved. Man, that was quick. The last thing he grabbed was the half-empty bottle of vodka from her nightstand before fumbling to turn off the lights.  
  
Before he left, he looked at her for a few seconds, breathing slowly, arms at an awkward angle as she started sleeping off the worst of the alcohol. On second thought, he could be nice and leave her out some aspirin for the morning, but he didn’t know her room that well, so he gave it up for a lost cause. “’Night, sugar,” he said softly. “I will not envy you your hangover.” And he crept out of her room, careful not to bang the door as he left, hoping that the hallways would be empty as he took his booty back to Wash.


End file.
